


Tides of Longing

by PipesFlowForeverandEver



Series: Hymns of Struggle [7]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Coarse language, Mystery, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sammy survived Bendy, but it is very heavily an interpretation of those chapters of canon, this fic is based mostly or only on chapter 1-3 content and is considered an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipesFlowForeverandEver/pseuds/PipesFlowForeverandEver
Summary: What's there to live for after you die? You struggle to exist- to make it all the way to your Lord- and all that greets you is Hell wrapped through your own flesh. Purgatory must be real after all. I pray and I pray and finally, something comes. I don't know what to believe anymore.  -An empathetic attempt to comprehend and console Sammy Lawrence and other residents of the studio.





	1. Just a Man

**Author's Note:**

> I also have this fic posted on fanfiction.net. If you're worried about the authenticity of this posting, feel free to contact my fanfiction.net account of the same name and I'll verify for you that this work is not stolen.
> 
> This fanfic references violence and its aftermath as well as depictions of hallucinations and re-experiencing trauma. I do want to assure, however, that this fic attempts to realistically bring together two beings with deep emotional troubles in a way that does not romanticize abuse, but still acknowledges wrongdoings and the trauma of others' actions.
> 
> This fic is an AU titled "Hymns of Struggle" that is based mostly or only on information based in Chapter 1-3 canon, my own idea of how the story possibly could have turned out as seen through the eyes of my OC.
> 
> This fifth arc will likely touch upon regret, doubt, and seeing things in another light...but maybe these things aren't as bad as we think.
> 
> I mostly write this for both your enjoyment and mine, but comments still brighten my day if you have any thoughts.
> 
>  **NOTE:** I'm just gonna keep an updated list at the end of this work and all the others of all the spectacular fanart you wonderful people keep making me that I'll never stop screaming about. I'll still be posting links in the notes of chapters as new art is made, but it makes sense to keep a big list somewhere!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him.”_ – John 1:10

Do you know what it’s like to be just a man? 

To be enveloped by your own pain, suffering, and longing? 

To be submerged until you drown within your own doings, your own machinations, your own ignorance…your own evils? 

To feel that there’s nothing you can do to make things right? Nothing. Not now. Not ever. 

_Forever._

And it was all so avoidable…so unnecessary…so _permanent._

If only you weren’t selfish. If only you had seen. If only if you appreciated what you had, maybe you could have saved what was supposed to be. 

Instead of having it end up like this. 

He wasn’t dead. 

He wasn’t the ink demon. 

He wasn’t even God. 

But he might as well have been all these things, because that’s what it is to be human- to be a lot of things. Impossible things. Beautiful things. 

Terrible things, too. 

Somehow existing all at once inside a single soul, paradoxes swirling in both loving play and fierce combat, somehow managing to not destroy their captor inside out with the vigor of merely _being._ A grateful imprisonment it is to be an emotion inside a human body- both a precious blessing and a curse you wouldn’t trade for anything…even if you wanted to. 

As the woman emerged into a cove of ink, on its shore stood a figure stiff with fear and yet shaken with amazement. 

A cream suit washed with endless time still remained stained, smudges of black rotting away the tips of coattails and the bottom of pantlegs. 

Underneath the brim of a hat dulled with dust and candlelight was a line of orange- ginger hair peaking just above two honey-colored eyes behind round glasses, their shades so bright in this dark, dark world that they seemed to glitter with gold. 

Resting under a jaw dashed with sideburns was a bowtie of indigo, a galaxy of cloth woven around a neck that should have been iced over with the cold of death many, many years ago. 

And Francine had fought to stand before this rainbow with her own, mossy green pants below a pale blue shirt, the symbol of a heart sewn over where her own was beating- where it had managed to remain beating despite everything that threatened to stop it for good…or to have her to wish that it would. A speck of her pink essence stayed on her chest for all to see, no matter how much she had endured for allowing it to remain within sight. 

A man of antiques and a woman of revolution were two bold strokes of color from the paintbrush of living among the undead, a pair of contradictions that had finally found themselves side by side, crossing paths and shaping lives. Their hues were both opposite and identical in reception, each bestowing light to this aching, black world that gnawed at their hair, their clothes, and their souls. 

The curse of immortality could not drain their colors away, no matter how hard it tried. 

So now here they stood together at last, marveling at each other’s existence and preposterous glory, both believing the other to be impossible…and yet here they were. 

As Francine absorbed his presence, she could feel that it was fundamentally different- unlike anything else she had ever encountered both within these borders of ancient yellow magic and outside amid emerald transience. 

He was many unfeasible things- as many people are and yet aren’t- but with one look she saw…she saw that even this nameless uniqueness that lingered about him couldn’t keep him from being as scared of this moment as she. 

And that was when Francine knew. 

That Joey was just a man.


	2. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“…But whoever listens to me will dwell secure and will be at ease, without dread of disaster.”_ – Proverbs 1:33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to AceOfIntuition for beta reading (twice) and helping me have a firmer direction for what's to come!
> 
> ALSO: I got more art!!! It looks amazing!!! Wow, first art of Hymns!Gingie!! I can't believe it...! Thank you, Star!  
> https://startistdoodles.tumblr.com/post/175154068870/huh

On a shore of wood with waves lapping black stood not one pair of shoes but two. Her set stayed dry while facing those which opposed her, the ink washing around his soles and then pulling back, dancing and tickling immortality at his toes; it seemed to mirror something- unsteady breathing, a racing heart…and the washing in and out of these extreme emotions with each passing second. 

Who knew that a peaceful conclusion could still be so utterly dreadful. 

This discomfort only grew and grew until it was like the pipes were humming with the vibration of upset, of change, of destiny thrown upside down. 

Finally, after basking in each other’s absurd splendor, someone had to do something. 

That someone was Francine, and that thing was a simple step forward. 

It came at him like a tidal wave. 

Almost simultaneously, the man flinched back, hand curled at his chest and its elbow thrown behind him. Francine’s reaching hand pulled back the smallest fraction, surprised and unsure as she witnessed his fear, his shoulders raise up and down in heavy anxiety and complete and absolute terror wiping across his face until the expression upon it seemed to shake. 

Her brow furrowed as she looked upon the being she had finally found, after fighting so hard to finally confront him one way or another. 

But the shattering of a spell still breaks it nonetheless. 

“Y… _you’re_ Joey…!” It was such a bizarre mixture of both stating the obvious and reciting the impossible. It made her feel weightless inside, as if releasing a secret locked deep in her soul so that it could spread through the air for only two to hear and know. 

Again, this gentle exhalation seemed to whip back at him. The old man blinked furiously, eyes darting back and forth, mouth gaping with neither breath nor words. 

She was uttering something totally magical, and they both had very, very different understandings of what this magic could mean. It was like watching someone carefully, reverently wipe the dirt and grime off an ancient tome; he knew what she had uncovered. 

And as each second passed, the man seemed to begin to grasp where he was and the fact that he was, indeed, talking to another person. 

“…That I am,” Mr. Drew admitted after an eternity of ponderance. 

And an equally awkward, stunned huff of a laugh came from her throat. It was ridiculous how mundane this dialog was on the surface- hardly a step above “how are you?” “I am fine.” And yet… 

And yet such mere words were so, so much, as if their simplicity also meant purity of meaning and purpose. 

It was the most human conversation possible. And that’s what they were. 

...Human. 

So impossibly human to one another. 

And that’s why even though she had so much to say, so much to ask, there was one thing above all else that seemed to be a courtesy hard-earned: 

“…I’m Francine.” 

His weary, wide-eyed gaze lingered up to meet hers, having looked desperately anywhere else up until this. And suddenly…he shifted. 

Melted, even. 

His shoulders fell, and hands kept anxiously to his chest began to do the same, his stance becoming less ready to run. From what? That eluded her at the moment; she was merely soaking in his very existence. 

He either couldn’t let go what he had to say or there was nothing that _could_ be spoken. But something about the way his bronze eyes glistened, the way he looked at her- 

“Why were you hiding?” 

It was so sudden that it made him jump once again, but was it really? Francine watched as the ginger’s sight flickered over her, and she felt her expression steel. The shock of this reveal wasn’t gone, but it was beginning to blur her journey here less and less. And now one recognition of humanity was followed with another- 

The logic of all that had brought her here…or rather the lack thereof. So much had happened. Pipes broke open to flurry their contents. The floor fell apart to try to take her to God knows where. And the whole time, the ink demon seemed to be there just as a tease. 

She couldn’t believe that studio itself had fought just to keep her from…from just a-! 

He looked so small in front of her now, so scared. Of what? 

She didn’t grasp that it was of her. 

* * *

Now the tides were licking the heels of a table. She wasn’t sure why a table here- why a _sea_ beside them- but that was the least of her questions. The wanderer and her hesitant host sat across from one another, the sides of his palms rested onto the surface. She blinked and the walls seemed just a bit closer; a vastly wide ballroom empty of all but a floorboard shore and an ocean of ink now seemed to move the visible sides just a bit closer to her shoulders, but maybe that was just her anxiety. 

Looking forward at the top hat-wearing man made her second guess second guessing. 

“…You’re right my dear.” 

Even though Francine had been hoping he’d talk, it still made her gasp. 

“My name…my name certainly is Joey Drew.” Elbows now on the table, he folded his hands in front of the lower half of his face; he seemed to peer right into her soul. “…Although you figured that out on your own very well.” 

A honey tongue to match his honey eyes; no one could have ever guessed he hadn’t talked to someone like this in decades…except for a look about him. 

Yes, Francine could tell how much trepidation there was for this moment. 

“I haven’t heard it-” An unwilling pause as words seemed to trip in his throat. One hand became a fist and he briefly, politely coughed into it. 

An old habit from when he was of a society worth being polite to, one without the loneliness of ink and never-ending life. 

“-…in a long time.” 

He was almost embarrassed- no. That wasn’t the right word. 

He was…hollowed. 

And just as he was finding difficulty finding words, she was finding difficulty figuring out where to begin. 

She didn’t know how much he knew, but she…could only guess it was very, very much. More than she. Just as she asked herself with Bendy, she wondered again- what do you ask someone who may very well know everything? 

Finally, somewhere. 

“How long have you been here?” A quiet question. A beginning. Just as she had begun with Sammy who knows how far back in her new past, she found her voice softening in necessity, breathlessness, and deep down…a kindness. A kindness she wished to have, so that is what she gave- hoping to receive it in return. 

The look on his face made her stomach churn. 

His eyelids lowered and somehow Mr. Drew in all his wretched solitude seemed even more cracked at the seams. 

“…Far too long, my dear.” Lips parted slightly and eyes closed, as if the weight of time was dripping like rain collecting on the brim of his hat until it fell down the middle of his face. “Far too long,” he said again in a whisper, almost as if he himself needed to hear it twice to accept it. 

It was now that Francine knew- or rather was reminded once again- that these people lived through far more than she could ever understand. This reality suddenly muted her- and suddenly strengthened him. 

“My darling, I…I am aware there’s a lot you would care to ask me.” Gaze upon her again, shadow sliding across his eyes as he titled his head upward, more firm in facing her. “You don’t have to-…” Yet another pause, an exhale nearly silent yet from somewhere deep, deep inside, like he was exhaling the dust from years of silence. A swallow ran down his neck in preparation for the inevitable. 

“You don’t have to be so gracious to this old man, Frankie.” He shook his head with a begging sort of vulnerability as candlelight shined over his quivering irises. Then in the most haunted, the most aching of voices, he conceded: 

“I’ll tell you everything.” 

_Everything._

The word echoed through her entire body until she began to shiver. It drifted above his head and gave him an aura- an emanation of something entirely otherworldly. 

Truth. Truth was…paranormal to Francine now, after having chased it so long. This is what she wanted; this is what she had struggled for; and yet it was so, so unbelievable for it all to end with the woman simply sitting down with an enigma that wanted to make it all known, for it all to just fall into her lap. 

She would soon learn that just as she was nearly in pain with all the revelation, so was he with having to confront it alongside her. 

“This…is…” 

The shadow slipped off his nose as he titled his chin up, weary as he recognized the environment of his own evils. 

“This is all my fault. All of it.” He waved his hand up, gesturing to the tall ceiling woven by pipes and glued with ink. “There’s no one to blame but me.” 

Fear flashed over her face; he could see it, and although he knew he was deserving…she could see his hurt nonetheless. 

“Not on purpose, of course,” Joey added quickly to disrupt any racing thoughts, “…but I don’t think that matters much anymore.” 

And his face was again hidden behind his daintily placed hands, titled slightly away to gaze past her in calm mortification. “…I can’t believe I was so blind.” 

And for some reason, her own hand came to her face- maybe hiding herself from the dawning wave of emotions. It couldn’t stop her though. 

“How did it happen?" 

He couldn’t even meet her eyes, she noticed; she began to wonder if it was because he didn’t want to or because he simply couldn’t. 

“Someone I loved…very, very deeply- like family- left me alone. And I thought…” Eyeballs seemed to gloss with tears, but they did not yet come. “I thought I could fix it.” 

Silence never felt so loud as he took in another breath. 

“I couldn’t, and…I didn’t. The-…the ritual I preformed took not just me as its prize, but…my entire studio with it.” So, so hushed with his own horrors “…And everyone inside.” 

Every opening of her face widened in an awful sort of awe. She had momentarily guessed that Joey had caused all this, but…that was when she thought he was _the demon._ The fact that he was only a man made it…so, so much more sickening. 

And real. 

The hand at her face began to shake uncontrollably, but even so, Joey decided to go on. 

“And no matter how much I beg, it won’t let us go.” Francine saw his eyes press shut with strength far beyond necessary, as if he was trying to not to see it anymore as visions of his actions burned into his mind. He began to mutter: 

“The gushing…the ink…everywhere…choking…taking…flooding…swallowing…I…I never wanted-” 

His knuckles clenched. 

“I never wanted this.” As if he was not only trying to convince her but himself. “…But at the same time, I suppose I did.” 

And indeed, Francine had been scared since the moment they sat down that this world might have been the machinations of someone who actually thought that this curse was a good thing to have. Suddenly, the battle for sincerity of this universe was not external but internal. She needed to decide. She needed to pick how to feel about the man who took everything from her and everything from all of these people. 

Maybe it was desperation for herself. Or maybe it was true empathy, but either way… 

His fingers, unlike those of every other being trapped in the studio, felt warm in her touch. 

Joey twitched in surprise, a gaze round with disbelief falling upon the young woman, and despite her own incredulity…she had unconsciously been preparing for this since the moment she entered the studio. It wasn’t a handhold of comfort, but rather a plea for him to lead her to the truth. 

“Joey...what did you do?”


	3. Hiding Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“At the same time, pray also for us, that God may open to us a door for the word, to declare the mystery of Christ, on account of which I am in prison…”_ — Colossians 4:3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Star and Silver are after my dang heart this week. Both of them legit made me tear up. 
> 
> Here's Star's AMAZING piece:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/175323997768/startistdoodles-my-ultimate-hymns-of-struggle
> 
> And here's Silver's WONDERFUL art:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/175318770628/slipnslideblog-henry-won-too-im-still  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/175318714028/slipnslideblog-i-wonder-what-will-happen  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/175318631778/slipnslideblog-doodle-dump
> 
> Legit the thoughtfulness involved in these is blowing me away and I love you both so, so much. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!!!! <3

Where to begin?

Is there a beginning, even? Can you date the birth of a hell that exists outside of time?

Can you even give a name to the worst thing you’ve ever done, that anyone could _ever_ do?

But this nameless, ageless destruction was Joey’s child, and so it was his responsibility to do these things whether he wanted to or not.

And certainly, he did not want to.

Of course, this wasn’t what Joey really longed for as his son. This was a forced adoption, a punishment for wanting too much and giving back too little.

A mistake he’d have an eternity to learn from but with not a sliver of a second to allow redemption.

The young man with dark hair, pale skin, and eyes that seemed to glimmer with every wonder in the world. Did it begin with this man? No. But it was about him. Involved him. Centered him. _Attached to him._

Even though he was long gone for years to come.

When his business partner left, Joey’s heart ached beyond imagination. He was so much more than a coworker; so much more than a spark in the dark, leading to hopeful futures; so much more than an aura that cast his gentle, loving hue onto a world that tried to choke color wherever it be found.

With him gone, so was his purpose. It wasn’t only the studio but also the old man’s life that the young animator walked out of, and so neither would be the same again.

But the final push to bring the horrors of sorrow into tangibility was by Mr. Drew’s own hand.

Now, Joey always believed in magic. Not just “industry magic,” “studio magic,” “cartoon magic,” but… _real,_ otherworldly forces beyond mortal conception that pushed and pulled human beings into the directions they were destined to coast upon, inexplicable like the flow of water within a rushing stream. This was how and why lives changed, _people_ changed…relationships changed.

But if this force could tear two people apart, couldn’t it be used to bring them back together again?

…No, most would insist. We cannot change what has already been done. We cannot alter the nature of being, and so we are helpless but to drift where we were intended to go.

But surely, certainly, this was not what life intended! They were everything to each other; the world seemed purposeful, joyous, _safe._ His absence took these comforts away and left only the hollow ache of an empty life, nothing left ahead to look forward to; not even death could save him from the pains of an afterlife of knowing he could never again have what made his very soul _alive._

And so Joey knew that magic not only shaped the world but controlled its tides, and like a dam he would stop the gush of false destiny in its tracks. If humans could halt water’s natural flow into place, so could he with his own river of time.

But only if he called upon that which made it move at all.

Eventually he found what he had been looking for. A solution- indeed, the only thing that made sense in a world of nonsense. It would bring him back.

Joey would bring his son- his family- _back._

But the price to be paid was for it to take everything from everyone.

* * *

“It all went wrong.”

Joey stopped in his steps. As the spirit grated by lost but unending time had reached inside himself to explain unexplainable feelings and events, his feet had wandered with his mind and Francine had no choice but to abide if she wanted to follow; and so, as he rested halfway in a path of memory, she paused alongside, gazing at an expression she could never understand.

Up until now, they had traced the edge of the pool of ink- a vast ocean that glimmered at its edges even without a sun on its horizon. It was like walking upon the beach in a movie as the protagonist allowed a sage to bestow upon them wisdom, and certainly…that’s how it felt to her now.

Except that wisdom in their circumstance was the comprehension that no one could ever truly comprehend this.

“When the ritual was completed…” he finally began again, confronting the inevitable, “…my beloved studio- everything he and I had worked so hard to create and maintain- had fallen to this horrible darkness you see before us now.”

Then a sigh heavy with a moment’s regret stewed over decades upon decades of reflection fell from his lips, and his eyes closed shut.

Maybe to deny seeing his own curse all around them.

“…And everyone we trusted to make our dreams come true were the ones that suffered for it.”

The slow close of his eyes now began to push a wrinkle into his cheeks, its forcefulness growing and growing as reminiscence soured into remorse. A face still scarred with a lifetime of laughter long, long since he did so last bent as laugh lines curved with gritting teeth and a deepening frown.

“It should have been me and me alone to atone for my sin,” Joey confessed with a voice hoarse as it spoke from the heart instead of the tip of his tongue, “No one else did anything wrong but me, and yet-”

Again, a fist to his mouth. But it wasn’t to politely hide a cough this time. It served as a gag as the next words made him sick to his stomach in release.

“-They lost even more than I did.”

And suddenly Francine- a being accustomed to the lull of attempting to comfort others who needed it, despite needing it herself- didn’t know what to say, do, or think…because…because…he was _right._ Joey was a man. Every other being lost to the murk had lost not only their minds but their bodies to the swirling pools and lingering drops of ink; it was an inkwell of spirits given forevermore to the torment of their immortality and the theft of their corporeality.

Joey himself only suffered from one of those two things. He would never know what it would be like to be adrift in the sea that lapped by his side, what it would be like to fight to have a body at all- even one that hardly stayed together no matter how strong, how passionate one was.

But there was, however, something he had to accept in trade for this.

She guessed such.

As the man contemplated his wrongdoings, trying to give description to the indescribable, Francine was lost in her own thoughts as well. Her brow furrowed heavily and a hand came to her chin, the knuckle of her index finger curling just a bit more than the others underneath a mouth stretched in both discomfort and debate.

“Joey?”

Eyes forced themselves open, but the cursed cartoonist could only manage a silver of golden-brown to look upon the person that called his name, the newest soul to be trapped amidst the immortalization of his suffering.

It made her dread what further pain this question could lead to.

“No one else knows, do they?”

Another sigh and he shook his head, flecks of dust flickering in the dim light as the slight breeze of movement put them in flight.

“No.”

And then…firmness. His expression shifted ever so slightly. Still resigned, still hurt, but now…the dawn of something new. Something Joey never anticipated in his entire suspended existence.

“No one except you.”

The weight of this was so overwhelming it took her breath away, and yet the power of grasping the worst of fates- realizing it was her own, as well- made it so all she could do was turn her head slightly, lower her sight to the floor, and bite her lips as sobs threatened to break them apart.

But she didn’t cry.

Francine had shed many, many tears since she first arrived, and each time it happened she had totally broken down and made herself feeble to the hands of the studio. She couldn’t afford that now- she couldn’t- and so somehow…she composed.

Her voice was needed instead to ask what needed to be asked, the air about them waiting decades for someone to do so.

“Why?”

And indeed, no one had ever been granted the privilege of knowing so much that they could question it entirely.

Joey’s chin lifted and even as the muscles in his face relaxed; his eyes remained slit as he stared her down as she stood in his peripheral. There was something about him now she couldn’t put her finger on, and it stirred a storm in her chest as silence swarmed the air these few seconds it took him to respond.

“…You asked me why I was hiding, my dear, when you first came.”

It was still a soft, light voice, but its tone was almost accusatory. The whites of his eyes seemed to have a stroke of light all their own.

“That’s far, _far_ from the truth.”

As he shifted to face her, Francine noticed that not only was some ink staining his pristine cream coat; the round pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose also had a black splatter painted upon them, obscuring part of that gleam that rested behind each of its sides.

“As I’m sure you’ve seen, the plague upon us treats every soul…differently than the others,” he explained with a voice somehow confident in the unimaginable. And he was correct. Alice lost her identity, Norman lost his voice, and Sammy lost his memory. But Joey…what did _he_ lose?

“My freedom,” he answered her unspoken question. “This curse took my freedom.”

A strange sort of way his face steeled, almost as if looking at her was to face his fears.

“It keeps me away from everyone else. Traps me. _Confines_ me in body, mind… _heart_ …and voice.”

A pause. The woman could feel her mouth slightly open in awe, because-

“Somehow, you broke in.”

It was stated breathlessly, matter-of-fact, and with a sharp, undeniable tinge of disbelief.

And maybe. Just maybe- hope?

If that’s what it was, it was soon washed away as another realization fell upon his face.

It was desperation.

“After all this time, Frankie…I need…” A raise and drop in his shoulders, an inhale and exhale to steady himself. “I need you to keep this… _me_ …from everyone.”

…

…

Her expression said it all without a single utterance. Complete and utter flabbergast. And so Joey’s expression sharpened again, knowing he’d have to put to words a horrible, horrible reality.

“I’ve done so much to hurt these people, my dear girl…and-…and _you.”_ He was right. She was trapped too, after all; the freshness of her arrival obscured but could not erase this truth. “And this wretched power watching over us has done one thing and one thing only in their favor, and that has been to keep me from hurting them again.”

He kept pressing his case. She was never supposed to know, either, but now she did. And so…he needed her compliance. It was the only way.

Lest things go even more wrong in a place already defined by the word.

“This existence is more than hard enough without knowing- without…facing…the evil that took everything away from them.” The brim of his hat tilted down, shadow falling upon his face as his voice was suddenly hushed. “I am more than willing to bear the burden of loneliness to keep it that way.”

Francine, to her core, felt something about this. It pulled at her, nagged at her, gnawed at her heart. But all these feelings were so raw, so intense, that Francine didn’t know how to argue. Could she, even? Her nature was certain from the very moment she stepped into these ancient halls; the woman was one of connectivity, empathy, and the virtue of sincerity. To hide it all seemed…wrong.

But as she gazed upon the man that spent more years dealing with this suffering than he spent truly being alive…maybe he knew better than she-

She swallowed and tried to blink away the doubt. She had hardly been here at all; he _must_ know better than she…at least in this.

And so this feeling in her chest had to be translated into something else. If she didn’t do that, it would implode her very being.

The hold of his hand when she first begged him to tell their realm’s tale may not have been one of comfort, but this one was. She couldn’t tell if it was for him or for herself, but maybe that didn’t matter. She held all the same.

Joey gasped, and everything about his expression revealed he wanted very, very much to argue why she shouldn’t be doing so. But as his now wide eyes looked for explanation…all she did was step closer to the black shore and stare at it, refusing to return his gaze.

All he could do was push away the knowledge he deserved nothing from her as she bitterly forced him to accept this kindness.

And so for just a moment, the two stood hand in hand as they faced the endless tides of black magic and altered destinies, the shadow of the demon looming just behind their ankles.


	4. Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in thy name, he hath done evil to this people; neither hast thou delivered thy people at all.”_ – Exodus 5:23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so my friend Star made crossover art of Francine and her OC, Ivy the Deadly Sheep!  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/175484314058/startistdoodles-perfect-ivy-au-girl-belongs
> 
> And then I sort of wrote a thing based on it, ehehe:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/175509535048/two-that-dont-belong-so-my-friend
> 
> AND THEN SHE WROTE SOMETHING BACK:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/175520840903/one-in-the-same

There was one thing Joey said that would haunt her forever. More than knowing he was alive. More than knowing that he was the one that did this to them- to her. More than knowing that he couldn’t fix it no matter how hard he tried…and that he’d been trying for almost a century.

“Has anyone ever…been able to leave?”

After an eternity of silence standing along the shores of ink- the quiet, vast puddle of spirits lost to the ink machine- Francine had finally spoke. His hand still in hers, she blinked and turned her head to look at the founder of purgatory.

And she could feel him tremble slightly, uncontrollably, limp in her grasp.

And he couldn’t make himself look back at her.

…Either that or Joey was putting all his concentration into assuring he would not.

Francine saw his free palm come to hold the brim of his hat, fingers clasping it, and the ginger old man let its shade fall over his eyes.

She could still spot a gleam from this shadow that masked him, the glistening ink upon two circles of glass.

“No.”

And it was almost indescribable how much a single word said and felt to their ears. Unbelievable the drop in her chest, the loss of something inside her she couldn’t name.

“But that doesn’t mean we still can’t hope, dear…!”

And a grimace of a smile had forced its way up his lightly wrinkled face. He still wouldn’t look, but his voice, unlike before, allowed a bit of the optimism he used to embody to return…if only as an impossible dream to keep them from plummeting into despair for who knows how long to come.

“There will always be a reason to, you know. Otherwise…” A meaningful pause drifted the air. “…I don’t think you’d ever be here.”

Was it genuine hope, or just an attempt to console a woman who now knew that which had taken everything from her? She couldn’t discern, and so Francine was left only to stare; the lull of a gentle, half-lidded expression that washed over her face still wasn’t enough to pull Joey’s gaze back in.

And he slowly but abruptly shifted his feet to turn around so the tides barely lapped at his heels instead of his toes. His hand slipped out of hers to do so and Francine, even in the exhaustion of revelation, managed to follow suit to gaze upon-

“The ink demon…” As Joey addressed the beast that watched over them, the dark being remained silent. Even his watercolor aura- the stains of grey that swirled around him like he was a drop of paint in a room full of water- had constricted. He did not drip. **He merely watched.**

And as Francine finally pried her eyes away to look at the man that had summoned agony incarnate, she saw that he was watching the demon back.

The tip of his brim lifted alongside an upturn of his chin, the artist of short stature looking up to this hellish cartoon. His eyes now unobscured, she witnessed them narrow again- a piercing gaze at that which imitated his most beloved creation…but certainly was not what his pen had intended.

The woman once again was at a loss to identify this emotion about Joey this moment, and nor could she distinguish how it made her feel to see it. All the same, Joey finally whispered; it was a wisp from his tongue somehow still rough with passion…or spite. Like an autumn’s wind, it was both light and bitter all at once.

“Someday, he will set us free.”

Maybe Francine had a god after all.

* * *

The end of an adventure, the beginning of new dread. A rushed decision to chase Bendy for answers had brought her to a man that gave them at the costly price of being sworn to secrecy. As Francine walked her way back to the apartment- an anticlimactic return- she became more and more burdened with discomfort and hollowed hopes. For some reason all this had felt so…empty. She _knew_ now but-…but…

She stopped mid-step in an ordinary studio hallway- or well, as ordinary as it could be here- folding her arms and frowning at the floor beneath her feet.

Knowing wasn’t so great after all, huh?

And now as shock started to fade, she began to wonder why she reacted as she did. Speaking gently, holding his hand, allowing him to lament rather than take up the conversation with her rightful complaints…with a rightful fury.

As well as she had kept it at bay, she _was_ deeply upset. Who wouldn’t be facing that which took her whole life away, that took away the lives of at least three other human beings long, long ago?

But somehow, she was again the one to bestow mercy. Maybe that was her own curse here; her newness to this gave her the strength, the gall to force others to stare in the face their own wretched pasts and fates…in hopes that maybe doing so would make their lives a little better- existing a little easier.

Yet they could not offer her the same.

No- no. That was off topic. She can’t dodge this question. Why had she been so gracious to Joey? It was bothering her now; he had selfishly dragged them all down with him, so it wasn’t like she was entitled to give him anything. So…why?

Maybe she had been too tired to be angry. Maybe she had been too exhausted to bother with a grudge…at least for now. Maybe deep in the depths of limbo, it was pointless to waste timeless time doing anything but trying to heal- a lesson to be learned from falling between the tormenting dynamic of the prophet and the angel.

Regardless, something inside her had begged that instead of shout, she listen to the answers she had demanded. And as she did, there came a thought-…

To imagine… _never_ speaking to someone ever again, as Joey was destined to do?

Francine wasn’t sure yet if she should be grateful she had blessed him with the simplest of joys- someone to listen to you. She herself had to admit she couldn’t survive a day without that, suddenly mulling over the way Mr. Drew’s honey eyes softened as he looked at her in all her delicate mortality; she felt that maybe…maybe…he really was sorry.

And maybe, since there was nothing more he could do but to ensure he would never hurt anyone again, that was enough.

But it wasn’t that simple-

And just as she had begun to confront what was inside her, she was reminded all too soon that there were things outside that would question her, too.

Francine and Sammy had wandered back into each other’s’ lives without intent- without a knowing purpose- and neither were aware how much the other had discovered in their absence.

How much each now needed to keep secret.

Faint, simultaneous gasps and raised heads to gawk upon one another, an unconscious connection between two people that had been utterly changed inside out since they met last.

The disciples stood across from each other, feeling the consequences of separation and reunion. Chests already heavy were filled with another sensation-

The raw awkwardness of having to forgive hurt feelings.

“I-”

They both had begun to talk at once and so their voices abruptly canceled each other out, neither wanting to speak over the other. Both Sammy and Francine retracted just a little from where they stood, flinching back as if mere interruption was a deadly sin. Indeed, they had been separated by their own outrage, but time apart had prepared them to be glued back together; the wisdom bestowed upon them gave plenty of reason to think less of a momentary disagreement within a possible eternity to spend together.

After the man that shined with oil opened his inky lips in surprise, Francine could see barely through the broken hole of his mask that his expression had begun to lax; a sigh in that smooth voice of his filled the gap between them, and it called to her heart before anything he would say after.

“Francine, I-”

And while he had spoken first, she was the first to act. Francine suddenly ran across the distance between them to throw her arms around his sides and bury her face in his chest, uncaring about the ink that inevitably stained her clothes, hair, and skin with his touch. Her whole life was ink now anyway. Who would give a shit if just a bit more got on her shirt again?

Not that she even thought about that just yet. Right now, her mind was preoccupied by an ache seeping to her very core that maybe couldn’t be gotten rid of until the day she died…but it still beseeched for this nonetheless.

For a friend.

There was a hesitation she didn’t notice. As the woman of flesh and blood threw herself at a man made from liquid gloom, the latter was caught midsentence and his mind seemed to freeze alongside his tongue. A lot of things…a lot of things this gesture meant, felt, and reminded him of. Arms strapped to his sides by her hold, Sammy’s fingers parted with tension as he looked down at the top of her head. She sensed his stare but did not look back.

Maybe that’s how Joey felt when he couldn’t either, she guessed.

And as the mundane of abnormal living took the disciples back, offering rest for two souls weary with revelation and secrecy, it eventually allowed them to find at least a moment of peace in each other’s arms. Francine wasn’t sure if she would ever care again how cold his touch was. The way her heart swelled as he finally gently, cautiously patted her head with his hand more than made up for it.

And maybe it was making him warm inside too as her round, pudgy shape stood next to him, despite the weight of something in his pocket reminding him that he used to have a real body with which to return a hug.

* * *

A blink and he was alone once again, just as he had belonged.

_Just as he had belonged._

Joey Drew’s mouth stretched side to side with a downward curl, its pull opening a sliver of his mouth to part in disbelief. His fists clenched so hard that they shook.

And as he quivered with incense and fear, so it seemed that the ocean did so in tandem as it laid behind him; flat, pooling ink was agitated with an unknown power and slowly- starting from the blurry horizon and then dominoing its way to the shore- waves began to rise and fall.

_Unsettled._

“Ink demon…” Joey uttered the monster’s title once again, that **thing** still standing ahead. Wordless. Actionless.

Just here to watch him _suffer._

And as the creator glared back, trying to burn every second of misery right back to that which had inflicted it upon him, Joey’s voice was very, very different from when the naïve young woman was here, again addressing the warden of his studio’s self-destruction.

“…Why did you bring her to me?”

He begged this of Bendy, mixing both demanding and helpless pleading into a brew of complete and utter indignation…despite knowing the creature would never tell him. But it was such a taboo- such a betrayal- that he still had to ask.

Because he was afraid. Afraid of her, for her, of himself, for himself, and of the ink demon.

_Afraid of the consequences._

Unknown to everyone including himself, something was always ready to crack within Joey’s fragile soul. It had been back when Henry had left and again when he came, and it remained up until Francine reminded the childless father what he had lost forever and ever.

_Crack. Crack. Crack._

And all the demon could do was smile as it did.


	5. Contradictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“For God is not unjust so as to overlook your work and the love that you have shown for his name in serving the saints, as you still do.”_ \- Hebrews 6:10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah gosh, Star drew the hug from the last chapter! I'm still melting over it!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/175590611533/startistdoodles-stream-doodles-thank-you-all

“Did you…” Sammy had to swallow back the words he wanted to say instead. “…find what you were looking for?”

Francine’s bag sat on the floor of the music hall’s entryway, a quiet, knowing eavesdropper upon the awkward silence and conversation between two people with more to hide than they had ever asked for. And certainly, what each now possessed was more than they had ever wanted to know.

But they themselves had begged for this; the disciples wanted answers to their prayers and sought for them in impatience, and separate but parallel journeys had instead provided more doubts to ponder as they awaited salvation.

Sammy didn’t want to know what Francine found- if she found anything at all. The time he spent alone was making his mind dizzy with revelation, his stomach churn with the frustration of puzzle pieces that wouldn’t snap together and make themselves clear to hopeful, hungry eyes.

He let the back of his head tilt until it touched the wall they both sat beside, spines resting at the bottom of a sign bearing his own profession and name in a hall scarred black with the lurking of searchers. The way dread gripped his heart and seemed to try to twist it out of him made him guess that yet another additional piece would lead to yet more agony. But he had to ask. If she was to care for him in mortality once all of this was done, he was to return the favor in the immortality that preceded it now. And to care?

Sometimes to care means to do things that you would rather not do.

And as much as questioning the ink demon scared him, he didn’t want her to feel alone in doing so.

…As if he wasn’t questioning, himself.

And the ball was passed to a woman who was just as unwilling to share as Sammy was to discover. Yet she too welcomed this great discomfort; they both did so out of politeness, compassion, and fear. But while Francine opened the door to the home of her heart, she would- could not- not let Sammy in.

“…I…”

How was she to say this? How would she put everything she had experienced, everything she now understood and yet couldn’t grasp at all? And in the back of her mind, a tortured man’s plea had reached forward to remind her of a promise:

 _“I need you to keep this…_ me _…from everyone.”_

She didn’t like secrets. Never did. They made their heart heavy and made it hard to look people in the eye. Francine only ever kept them if someone else told her to, and if it was for a good reason.

Reluctantly, she convinced herself that this was a pretty damn good reason.

Joey seemed to recognize his evils and didn’t fight back the curse of eternal loneliness- and perhaps, never tried. It almost seemed…noble to her. It didn’t sit right somehow, but again- she was a soul that could only find peace in connectivity. And so the fact that the father of their hell locked himself maybe even deeper away into it than everyone else just to prevent any more damage than what was already done?

That was something beyond her fathoming, and so she reconciled the idea of such a horrid fate by assuming it to be a kindness. A kindness that was her duty to maintain- the least she could do to help hurt beings lost to time hate it just a little less.

And so, she swallowed her pride.

“No,” she muttered quietly. And as she said it, she justified her lie by remembering this wasn’t entirely untrue. Certainly it was an omission, yes, but she…-

Francine stared down at her hands as they rested upon a fold of her stomach, Sammy’s own pair only inches away holding his knees.

-…She didn’t find what she had really sought for, what made her leave the safety of his attendance; she got something else instead- something that fell weightily upon her heart as she was finally by her friend’s side.

But sometimes to be kind, you must be uncomfortable.

And so they both sat alongside in an uneasy, hollow, and yet benevolent silence; it was reminiscent of two kids sitting in the school hallway after being sent there for being too rowdy fighting each other, and now they had to think of the consequences of their actions upon their friendship. This is why Sammy forced himself to embrace words he didn’t want to hear and why Francine kept Joey’s dark truths to herself.

Because both of them thought that doing what would be best for their own soul would be unforgivably selfish; they couldn’t abandon the one they cared about most when they knew all too well that they didn’t seem to have another in this place that’d ever be by their side.

“…Ah.” An equally hushed reply, response slowed with the drag of needing to analyze what he said and heard rather than let the conversation flow naturally. Sammy didn’t believe her, of course- not because he had an inkling of an idea the absolute madness the woman had gone through; it was because to discover was…her way. As his tilted gaze soaked in Francine’s return, he saw that she was much more stained than when she had left- splatters of the studio’s blood fallen upon her at angles and directions more like mud thrown in a rainstorm than simply slipping into a puddle. And so whatever she had weathered, he could tell it was more than she let on; he could see it in her eyes.

And yet it somehow didn’t occur to him that this meant that she was keeping a secret. How bizarre.

But of course, she couldn’t have had any idea he was doing the same…that is, until-

“What’s that?”

Her head gently tossed itself to her left shoulder as she noticed a slight, smooth glisten from the candlelight hitting something in his right pocket. In reply, Sammy was silent, and his body language seemed to convey he had been caught by surprise, and so she pointed down at this odd texture by his waist to elaborate.

He felt his chest seize up. He couldn’t tell her what this meant- he wouldn’t, he promised himself- and yet it made him anxious for her to know it existed at all.

…Even as he didn’t know what it was himself; the object that granted him wisdom was overflowing with meaning and yet blank of purpose.

A pair of glasses was pulled from the confines of his pocket, Sammy gingerly lifting it into the air between she and him, allowing them both to gaze upon its wire folds and broken lenses.

“I don’t know,” he lied and yet admitted much as Francine had done herself. Undeniably, Sammy knew- Sammy knew that once it had sat upon someone’s face before the studio’s downfall and death, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what on earth this was _for._

“Oh _, Sammy…-!”_

His heart began to rise in that brief second as she seemed more herself again, a slight bubble of laughter in her voice as she prepared to teach him of something common knowledge from where both she and him used to reside.

It was short lived for such a strange and glorious reason.

The woman's chin lifted, and her pupils fluttered all around the room once a familiar grey began to swim onto the walls, coasting its way into the reunited friends’ conversation. While Francine herself was surprised, her shock was much calmer than that of Sammy, a gasp flying from his oily lips and shoulders beginning to rise and fall with the unease of recognition.

From the very staircase that Sammy had seen in his memories swell and overflow with the ink that drowned the rest of his life forevermore, their god had emerged- standing in the entryway of his prophet’s haven.

He stood taller than ever with both of his disciples already upon the ground in communion.

The two could only stare at their dark lord as he graced them with his presence, unsure what his coming meant and what **he** intended to do here.

“My-my-…my lord…!” Sammy addressed him meekly, unable to identify what else he could do, and the object he had found was mindlessly set upon his lap as his hand fell in awe.

Like every corner of the room was a shore, the demon allowed his swirling spirit to trace the walls and fall just short of his believers’ feet.

It took the longest second in the world to realize he was simply there in wait.

No, he didn’t move from that spot, and doubtlessly that eyeless, piercing regard was for the two seated upon the floor. And suddenly- Francine felt something shift in her mind. As that unmoving smile curved over the demon’s dripping face, he seemed…gentle somehow. Certainly, his aura about him now was much less violent than when he- when he-…

Unseen by Sammy, her eyes shot wide as something finally clicked into place. She remembered the way he was always somehow within sight when she had pursued him through a quickly decaying studio; the way she could always see where he was or where he went off to, what direction to go and how to avoid the traps that lied in wait. And she swore- she could _swear_ now- that she had seen the beast look back at her and hesitate the smallest moment before jumping out of sight through the last door.

In her chase of the demon, it never occurred to her that he wasn’t running away.

_He had been **leading her.**_

And just as this veracity broke into her consciousness, her heart began to pound at the same time her expression began to soften. She still didn’t understand the ink demon, and maybe she never would- but this? This meant something. It had to. And so…she hesitantly allowed herself to feel unexpected reassurance in the company of the being that terrified her the most.

Because she now saw that sometimes to help, it means to deceive.

Maybe the ink demon could sense this apprehension- this new perspective that had begun to seed and root within her psyche. Maybe it’s what he had come for, because just as mild acceptance started to shape her face into a different sort of gaze, the tall creature of liquid shadows shifted his stare and merely walked away, rounding the next corner until both his physical body and the splatters of his soul upon each surface drifted out of sight.

No, Bendy had not come for anything- did not expect anything of his followers during this encounter; it wasn’t in wait he had arrived…

…But in **watch.**

And as Francine felt her heart begin to be pulled in one direction for the demon, Sammy was almost sick feeling his lean the opposite way, knowing what he did now leaving his faith in more peril than ever.


	6. Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“For we walk by faith, not by sight.”_ – 2 Corinthians 5:7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some amazing stuff, gosh!!!! First up, STAR WROTE ME A FANFIC HOLY HECK!!!! I'VE READ IT A BILLION TIMES, ITS SO GOOD  
> https://startistdoodles.tumblr.com/post/175821783335/love-and-loss-ballofyarn-bendy-and-the-ink
> 
> And then my friend R drew what she thinks Francine looks like!!! SHE'S SO NEAT GOSH  
> http://ufopilots.tumblr.com/post/175880467307
> 
> And most recently, the lovely Crystal has drawn how she imagines my Bendy! I'm pretty sure it's of a certain scene I really love... :3c  
> http://gianna-crystal013.tumblr.com/post/175972365526
> 
> You guys are just...the best. And I love you. Deeply.
> 
> ALSO: A new thing!!!! A lot of people are drawing a fusion between Gingie (my Joey) and Snowy (AceOfIntuition's Joey), and his nickname is Minty!!! He's so dang cool, please check out the art for him too!  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/search/minty

Mindless wandering often ironically means someone is in deeper thought than you could ever guess. So it was now. Sometime after Bendy left them be, one of the two disciples had finally felt that they c _ouldn’t_ just be- at least as they were- so they then decided to be somewhere else. The other followed suit, lulled by the draw of companionship and reflection. Which was the first to get up? Neither could recall, and so it didn’t matter.

Both were immersed in emotions and reminiscence nonetheless. It was all they could do after being confronted with something just on the cusp of their understanding- just within sight but not within a grasp that wouldn’t leave them tumbling off the edge entirely.

Sammy’s chin lifted, memories and feelings of one kind drifting into those of another as familiarity overwhelmed his senses just enough to snap him back to the present.

The last time he had reached the end of the hallway of his- he still couldn’t believe it, _his_ \- old office was so shortly after the woman had first arrived. Back when he had abandoned her to sort out his reeling mind-

Having stopped unconsciously, Francine had done so as well and was now looking up at him in gentle, unquestioning but still curious wait.

-…All this they experienced together since had led him to promise he wouldn’t do so again not just once but twice, only for him to break it as many times.

All he could do with her unearned trust was to sigh and turn his head back forward, taking in the view of the piling ink that entrapped the glass room that bore his name, where he had first kept her “safe” from the rest of this eternal abyss.

He still didn’t notice the glass was more broken than when he saw it before.

Although Francine didn’t grasp his ways this moment- or well, ever- she still accepted it, and so the woman leaned against her side of the hallway with folded arms and one foot crossed behind the other as he observed his fragmented past. Shoulders rose and fell with a sigh of her own as she recognized this place too, but a small glimmer at his side reminded her of a conversation that had almost drifted away.

Sammy almost didn’t perceive it as she slightly unfolded one arm, using it to point at the nearly forgotten pair of glasses.

“Really don’t know what those are, huh?” she asked not mockingly but with genuineness- consideration for the man who could distinguish little from the outside world. And as he merely nodded, she began to wonder why she was so perplexed that he didn’t. Must have been because whenever he was from must have had glasses, but _doubtlessly_ they had shirts, too, and he said before that he hadn’t seen those in God knows how long. The repetition of endless eternity without certain objects must have done a good number erasing knowledge they existed, she surmised.

Again, trying to push back that this was the spell in which she now lived.

…Although Sammy’s mental walls built brick by brick by the swamping of ink didn’t help either. When would he tell her that a few of the blocks had fallen out, allowing him to barely peer into a sliver of something beyond his comprehension?

Maybe never. As much as his lord’s inexplicable behavior had shaken him- his entire perspective of his existence and purpose- he still clung to one thing that her last encounter with the angel made him believe.

That maybe they weren’t supposed to know, lest the path to salvation was clouded.

It certainly didn’t feel right to know what little he did.

It was so, so strange and uncomfortable for beliefs and disbeliefs to mix together in his chest, both contradicting and coinciding until it drove Sammy to do and think things that felt like they creeped onto his shoulders and slid down his arms with the ink that swallowed his body. The man would have been grateful to know that this was one of the most human experiences someone could ever have, but none could console what he would not reveal.

And so the disciples were content to speak of objects rather than meanings.

“Those help you see if your natural sight’s not so good,” Francine put plainly as Sammy retrieved the broken accessory once again from his pocket. It was both a polite and a confused silence she gave as the man too now leaned against the wall, shoulders and back touching the boards behind him and legs stretched forward towards her. Between his fingers the glasses were held in front of him, the little cracks in the delicate lenses putting thin lines over his tilting mask.

“I see,” was his accidental pun, hummed smoothly. And for some reason this made Francine feel…better. She had dreaded meeting up with him again- not because she hated him for what he had said but because of the unspoken nature of their separation; she never liked leaving an argument angry like they both had back then. To hear that chime in his voice as she introduced him to something both old and new from the outside was a comfort to her weary soul.

But as all comforts of this world seemed to be, it was dashed just as quickly.

“It’s like my mask, then.”

…

…

…

“What,” she said flatly.

“My mask,” the inky prophet replied, his scratched, wooden stare more poignant than ever, “It helps me see.” He put it so casually, so simply; it was neither a confession nor a revelation, but simply a fact. Tone alone wasn’t what threw her off though.

Francine felt her cheeks push her eyes into more of a squint as her brow furrowed in total perplexity. There was literally nothing about what he just said that made sense. The worn and torn visage of Bendy looked her back as she finally reexperienced one of the first details about him that had troubled her- and evidently it was also one of the first she had managed to ignore for the sake of her sanity. What was hidden in plain sight was so abruptly overwhelming that what she asked next wasn’t even the right question; it went straight over the idea that flat, broken piece of a cutout “helped” him see and flew right at the impossibility that it a _llowed_ him to see at all.

“I…don’t think there’s any holes in the eyes.” She laughed saying it with a head shaking a silent “no” from side to side, she was so incredulous. Somehow entirely confident in a universe that proved time and time again that nonsense was entirely what these inky truths were made of.

Ignoring that these truths were now her own whether she realized it or not.

“That’s correct,” Sammy answered unwittingly bluntly.

“So…” The woman shrugged into her lean, shoulders falling closer to her ears as she stretched her neck towards him in utter disbelief, as if looking closer did something to remedy it. But no; she was right and he was right to confirm it- no hole was in his mask besides the one that sometimes barely revealed his mouth.

One corner of her mouth tugged further to the side until her mouth was open and clearly gaping. It was only going to get wider and longer with the stretch of amazement.

“…How do you see with it on?!” Francine finally managed to conclude, a pause necessary to process what she even just said.

It was not going to help in the least.

As if that somehow was as simple as it could be put- as much of an explanation as he could give- all he did was tilt his masked head once again and say:

“I can’t see without it.”

The pair of glasses fell back to his side along with a relaxing arm, and now she was face to face with something that served as more than only a second smile. It was both an ever-present reminder of his god’s grace and his fervor as well as something more- something that carried him through each and every day-

Wait. No. What the _fuck?_ There’s no way. _There’s no fucking way-_

But all Francine could do was swing her head side to side one more time with wide eyes and a voice so taken with shock that it barely escaped her lips.

“…I can’t tell if you’re being poetic or not,” the mere mortal admitted with hardly a squeak.

He was not.


	7. The Second Face of a Blind Prophet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“As we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”_ – 2 Corinthians 4:18

There’s a certain given level of unpleasant intimacy when you make yourself vulnerable to a friend- a certain breathlessness. It’s scary. It’s new; even if you’ve done it a thousand times before, revealing something about yourself will never find its sting in wane. This is because the unraveling of the mystery of a human being isn’t too far from a cut in the skin; it’s a fresh opening, time and time again, and if it’s in the same spot more than once than it will eventually begin to scar, to callous. Only then can it numb- that is, if it doesn’t simply hurt more instead.

Now it was true that it was merely a fact to Sammy that he could only see through the image of his lord. It was also true that it was so ingrained into his life of devotion that he had thought nothing of it- to the point that it was just as unremarkable to mention it as it was incredible for Francine to hear. So this was not his vulnerability.

Then what made him feel so?

What was it then, that made the space between his shoulder blades tingle with unease, his heart’s pulse run up and down his neck with the flight of anxiety?

As he and his rediscovered companion stepped into the band room yet again, he let her go in first. Unexpectedly, he noticed this discomfort crawl into his chest, and as the door fell behind him, so did his arm fall to grip the other; slight dints of pressure appeared under his fingertips into the soma just above his elbow. He walked in a slump, head craned forward and down- the thin painting of Bendy looking into the room where tones of worship reigned supreme.

Sammy felt it staring. It always did, and most of the time it was…comforting. An assurance that he was always cared for, never alone. But today as the cutout in the viewing window looked down upon its believers, what was always assumed to be a loving gaze now pierced instead of cradled his soul.

To say he no longer had faith was incorrect. To say that the ink demon could not be his savior was incorrect.

And it was the same if he had said he knew how to feel about these things.

It made Sammy lower his mask and look inward at the woman who sat herself upon the stage and picked up her- or rather his- instrument of choice, assuming that another violin lesson was what they had come for.

That is, until she observed that he didn’t come any closer.

…Well, it wasn’t like she was going to be able to pay attention anyways. Not after what he had just said.

Her eyes became half-lidded and the expression upon her face scrunched with thought. She noticed the way his head fell almost somberly down from its look to the devil’s visage.

And so the recent revelation of his mask and the past upset about her chasing after the demon finally blended, and Francine thought she understood why Sammy’s mood was so low.

Emphasis on “thought.”

Still in her seat, she set the violin down onto the chair beside her, folding her hands upon her lap and steadying her gaze towards the fellow disciple as she searched for words.

“You…really can’t see without it?” Spoken hesitantly, mildly; as perplexed as she was, she had slid into a care that shaped what she chose to say. Francine had admitted to herself that she _knew_ there was a conversation they needed to have but had no direction for her to find it on her own, and so he let him choose the path with however he would respond.

Again, a casual shake of his head. And then silence. He still only stood.

“How long has it been like that…?” Francine wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know.

It was somehow unfortunate she still would not as Sammy gave a subdued, hollowed, “I don’t know.”

Unbeknownst to her, something had clutched his heart. As he opposed her with his mask and felt the same face burn into the back of his head from above, he had begun to identify it.

What he found filled with him with dread. It wasn’t the mask that bothered him…

It was what lied beneath it.

His frown deepened and opened slightly; his slouch grew tighter as he made himself smaller.

_Disgusting._

_Appalling._

_Unworthy to live._

_…Unworthy to die._

“Hey.”

A soft breath of a noise drifted from his throat, and the darkness that occasionally choked his sight and mind faded away to take him another day. She was here to push it back just a little bit longer.

Her hushed voice made Sammy flinch, shoulders raised and one hand moving closer to his chest. But oddly, she hadn’t interrupted him to speak; she was only staring. Why was she only staring?

And then the prophet saw in her eyes- a sort of…sharpness. Not a pinning one like that of his lord and what was made in his image. Somehow her mortal eyes gleamed with…worry. With kindness.

To remind him that she was here, and so was he.

That was all it took for a wall to break down that he had neglected to repair for a very, very long time.

“I…must confess.” He shifted, and it shifted something inside her; tenderness wasn’t…his strong suit- neither for her nor for himself.

And suddenly…he was entranced. A spell was cast into the air, and it drew him closer and closer. The face that blessed him with sight loomed ever nearer, and with it never leaving her own face as the focal point, it lowered as Sammy began to kneel in front of her- not all the way, but enough for him to be just short of lining those monochromatic, flat eyes with her round ones.

There was a time before when he did something like this- when she was suffering from the revelation it wasn’t only she and him that were trapped here, and all he could do then was let his mask’s gaze allow her to see his faith; he never took it off, in hopes that seeing through the eyes of his god may make clear the road to release.

Now as the chipped paint presented itself to Francine, it carried a vastly different meaning.

And indeed, it was justified.

“I haven’t…” And he had to decide. He already must have unconsciously to even begin this sentence, but his soul was so weighted with these things inside of him that it was worth second guessing. And so as she gaped at him, so was he at her; the flecks of brown that lined her jaw…the slight tremble in her lips with the force of them pursing…a strand of hair astray from the rest, falling in next to an eye with a shine splattered over a glittering iris-

And then he was sure, because to see her was to see what was eating him away- always had, and always would.

“…Ever been able to see without it.” As much as this shocked her- melted her even- Sammy knew and Francine could assume this was half a truth. But for now, they ignored the fact that there was once a time that Bendy didn’t consume every corner of his sight.

There were more things to think about than that.

And finally, the woman realized he wasn’t looking at her but at the details of mortality. They had always radiated like beams of glory from above; it was why the projectionist clasped her cheeks, why the angel stroked her hand, and why the prophet pondered every touch she gave and allowed. Because she was something they wanted.

Feared they never would have again.

The very idea left her breathless, but maybe it should have all along…since she did that very thing to them by merely existing.

And he wasn’t even done. That wasn’t even what he had so bravely come forward to say.

“I’ve never seen my face without it.”

No, the woman would never understand what it was like to be taken by the ink. Not at all.

Having nothing she could ever say to that, Sammy had no choice but to continue.

“In the mirror-…” He shuddered. His slimy, drippy, mucus-like body didn’t even need to be in his view again for it to make him sick. “-I can only ever see this…cursed, wretched body, and these black-greased lips behind the slit of these teeth.”

One hand came up to the part of his mask to which he referred, and those same lips rolled together as he contemplated something that threatened to make him feel even more horrible than what he just described.

“I’ve…never seen my own face.”

A man could never be more troubled.

And a woman could never be more speechless.

Of course her eyes trembled in their sockets, and of course his skin started to drip again. Such is how the body releases what the soul can’t contain.

But sometimes there’s something stronger that causes the heart to move the body against the will of the mind.

Sammy now had not one hand at his mask but two, and- what? What were they doing?

And then the mask came off.

Strings of black stretched across the growing space between the wood at the syrupy ink it glued itself to, stretching until the lines caved in the middle and either fell back onto his ink or joined that of the floorboards. Shining pearls of wet shadows dribbled over his fingers, tracing knuckles of the same shade until they collected upon his forearms, invisible among the rest of him.

Finally, finally…after all this time…his façade lowered before her and Sammy allowed someone with all he wished for to judge he who had none.

And a weary, wary smile began to grow as it finally had a complete face to match, appearing only as absolute anxiety left nothing else to do.

Her own hand came to her mouth, gaze wide as she studied him with disbelief. He couldn’t see- just as he promised- but he somehow could still sense this change, and so the curve of his lips slowly but surely faded, unsure what to make of this change in her aura.

…And likewise, she now could witness Sammy too express feelings and intentions without a single word.

The eternity of a few seconds it took for her to speak made his chest feel both empty and so impossibly heavy, something between a sigh and a grunt involuntarily uttered as he began to panic.

“Oh Sammy…”

It was all she could say.

Even without eyes, he was somehow so…so remarkably human. An oily head with only a mouth and indents for expression still conveyed something so delicate, so subtly tender as he made one of his worst secrets exposed, dreading a future with its release but somehow still knowing it should be done. She was helpless to how this made her feel- to experience the very same emotions etched with and onto the ink looking back.

Mesmerized, there was nothing left to do but to lose herself to the whims of humanity.

A faceless face literally melted in her into her fingers as one hand shakily rose to first touch his cheek- testing if what she saw was real- before holding it. At her caress, the slight dents where eyes should have been almost seemed to widen, and a bead of liquid clung between his lips as they parted to inaudibly gasp.

“I…” Francine paused, tilting her head in amazement. “I don’t know how to begin to explain this…”

God only knows what that could mean, and so he was sick with both trepidation and…something else. He couldn’t name it and it still scared him, but it wasn’t something he wanted to deny. Who could say what kind of disgust, what kind of hatred for what he was now rested just inches before him? And yet he still anticipated it.

A gulp moved down his throat, trying to swallow the dismay.

“Sometimes, when things aren’t what we want them to be, what we still have is…blessed.”

It was an abrupt thing to say amid all this raw, unearthing pain. Now, Sammy had removed his lens of faith as a confession- a maybe needless admission that somehow felt right and necessary to do as the nature of the soul often begged of their owners. This was all he intended; he wanted to make himself bare to her scrutiny, his horrors visible to her conscious. Heaven knows why, but it was still all he could do and all that had to be done.

But he didn’t need to say what he was really asking her to do for him when it was written all over his face.

Sammy wanted to know what he looked like. Who wouldn’t?

Certainly, she’d want the same.

“Your face is…different than before, I think.” It was only politeness that kept her from saying it was for sure. “You don’t…really have a nose; and there’s just-…some small inward bumps where your eyes are supposed to be.”

His chin turned further up in astonishment as she went down the list of his appearance, the side of his jaw shedding some black onto her palm as it did.

“But!”

And both she and him recognized his flinch with the sudden chirp in her tone. Then he heard something that he must have been mistaken about. It was _impossible._

Sammy heard her laugh.

“Like that! Just like that!” Another of that incredible sound. “That’s amazing!”

Amazing?

“Somehow you’re still so…” And something in the air seemed to hush absolutely everything. “…Human.”

Sammy’s shoulders rolled back and his neck tilted backwards in complete and utter awe.

Human.

He looked…human.

No cartoon eyes…no pointed horns…

_Human._

“You’re wonderful, Sammy.”

And then there was the first true, audible gasp. He was gaping, his mouth silently moving to shape that adjective over his tongue- the last thing he thought she’d ever say- a word he believed he may never hear as long as he lived. But then-

Suspicion.

…Only one way to find out.

“You’re lying.”

Again, he could not perceive it visually, but an unnamable sense knew the rest of her body had retreated along with that touch upon his cheek. A soft thump; the woman had put her hand to her heart.

“N-no! I-…I…”

Silence.

“…Listen, Sammy.” He felt her fingers return, lightly and cautiously grazing one of his shoulders.

“I’m sure this isn’t who you were before.” Oh, how brief it was to try to avoid the glaringly obvious. “I know you know that. I’m not…going to make you believe you’re something that you’re not.”

A pause, one that was intended to give her breath but had failed; it only filled her lungs with more words she wasn’t sure should be said.

“Even though you’re-” She had to fight for a second to even find a descriptor. “-liquidy. You’re inky like this…”

She didn’t dare to add that all this was only remnants of who he used to be. In that veracity’s place, her fingers squeezed.

“You’re still- somehow-… _you.”_

But maybe no matter how tender she could be, no matter how much she tried to convey what she _knew_ without a doubt just by seeing him-

“…I don’t understand.”

“That’s the hard part to explain.”

Yet another stretch of quiet. Sammy felt his brow furrow until the pressure on one shoulder was abruptly matched upon his other. A mutter. Barely audible.

“Maybe this is a good way to start.”

And soon would come the longest moment of his life.

“Wonderful,” she stated firmly.

Ink in the dents shifted as sharply as her voice, conveying almost…moving his gaze around in confusion. The man’s upper lip lifted, baring more teeth. It stretched in a frown and created bumps- dimples- that pushed the oily flesh of his cheeks toward the pair of shallow holes.

“Do you feel that?” It wasn’t a whisper, but it was still like a wisp of wind, like she had to be quiet for him to identify what she already did. “Your face. _That’s your face.”_

The look upon him became more extreme. “I…?” And then- he felt it. He felt his face _move._ It did so to express without his permission- on its own- involuntarily.

A small “hm” chimed in the air somewhere near and ahead.

“The look on your face tells me you get it now.”

Then suddenly but oh so lingeringly slow, the grasp upon him shifted from fingers to palms and led down and around his back; Francine pulled herself into him.

“I’m so proud of you for staying human.”

And then again that unbearable sting. Embarrassment. Helplessness. _Vulnerability._ His stomach turned upside down.

She was holding him, he realized. And there was a reason that when she had done so recently before that he did not hold her back.

He noticed his heart race as he realized where she was. She must have been able to _feel it._ And he was mortified. In turn, she didn’t _say_ so…but the perception of a slight upward movement at his chest said it all. She was smiling.

Of course he had to do something, even if everything this cursed life had taught him cried that this wasn’t right.

His arms lifted right ahead, but they were careful not to return her embrace. Sammy couldn’t see them right know, but the eternally dying prophet knew these appendages were unchanged. Still dripping. Still black. Still _ink._

And yet.

The dark being’s elbows bent and eventually, smothered fingertips were laid upon her back. But they were thrown back just as soon; his cold touch had made her shiver.

He took a step back to allow her to finally release him, as she must have wanted-

“No, no! It’s…okay.”

“…”

His arms hung back in the air behind her again, hesitant with every ounce of doubt in the world, not daring to invade past an invisible barrier once more. In reply, the lean into his chest became stronger. He could feel the force of it reshape him ever so slightly.

“It’s okay.”

“…”

“It’s okay.”

And Francine repeated it over and over, each utterance somehow gentler than the last. Not demanding, not scolding.

Just…truthful.

So finally, wet palms touched her back once again.

…

…

And there was no shiver.

Sammy did his best to mimic the comfort his friend gifted to him, folding his arms around her back. It wasn’t intended, but the man found that he was pushing her into himself, as if doing so made him more human than before.

It was okay.

Maybe even if that was a lie, just for now…he would believe it.

And all that heard Francine’s assurance would try to accept, lest they lose the hope that kept them from crumbling apart.


	8. What We Have is Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“‘For his eyes are on the ways of a man, and he sees all his steps.’”_ – Job 34:21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness gracious that last chapter got not one but THREE DIFFERENT ARTISTS DRAWING IT!!! Gosh I'm touched. You guys are the best ;;;;; These are all so sweet, thank you all
> 
> https://gianna-crystal013.tumblr.com/post/176071297596/another-fanart-for-pipesflowforeverandever-on-the  
> https://slipnslideblog.tumblr.com/post/176078611359/wonderful-she-stated-firmly-their  
> https://startistdoodles.tumblr.com/post/176093695090/startistdoodles-some-art-to-go-with-a-side-of
> 
> Metallic made a piece too before I wrote out the hug! Almost like she's psychic hehe. It's great too, please look!
> 
> http://metallicartist.tumblr.com/post/176056369057

Sammy had finally, finally allowed himself to embrace not just Francine, but all associated with her.

How incredible it was what this band room had witnessed until this point.

It was the room where Francine revealed so briefly yet so very long ago her first deepest fear- that Sammy hated her, kept her trapped alongside him for whatever selfish need his twisted religion compelled him for. This was where in his utter desperation to grasp the communion and comradery he had longed for so, so long, he made himself bare- revealing how unsure he was in what he had done for his lord all these years. This was where Sammy began to realize that it was not a human sacrifice Bendy seemed to require of him but a sacrifice of his old, self-preserving ways; he was to guide the woman through this darkness and was to help retain the flame of her untouched soul lest it be taken by the very ink that had imprisoned him for as long as he could remember.

For Francine, these walls were audience to her songs. These instruments listeners to her confessions of rage and misery. But most of all- and she had to remember, it was most importantly- that the dust and the dangling microphones lined with the papery golden light of the lightbulbs and candles were friends in the reconciliation of the disciples time and time again. As she let the cold of his body sweep over her, it set free a bittersweet smile.

And in this moment, the cutout above watched in silence, the visage of their god smiling down upon them.

The eyes that not only saw all, but had seen everything this room had ever, ever seen.

Even before the death of the studio, even before the rebirth of Sammy and his department into the prophet and his ghostly congregation.

And now this man of curses and faith was beginning to wonder what those eyes saw, too.

They were, of course, the same painted upon his second face.

Now, Francine had proven her own determination, but to say Sammy was without his own would have neglected the very nature of his existence. If he did not have it, where would his lost soul be? Doubtlessly it would still be rotting in the puddles, groaning and wailing with the eternal anguish of every other stolen being that had nothing more in them than to just give up.

His faith was what had caused him to reform each time his body dissipated, what led him to put on the mask and see life anew. He had hope now, and it took a long time to see it, but Francine seemed to be the penultimate accumulation of such biding hope- the fuzz of light at the end of the tunnel, the blurring colors on the horizon as the sun finally prepares to emerge and stain the darkness away.

But about the same time, her small flicker amid the black made him so terribly afraid of the shapes it made, like a candle placed upon the floor of a cave; just enough to set free the shadows that made his heart flutter with the worst of anxieties.

Just enough to know something was there, but not what it was.

Maybe Sammy didn’t have his own eyes, but both disciples could barely see in their peripheral that their new “complete” view of the world wasn’t complete at all. The woman now had to hide the existence of an entire human being, and the man could barely glimpse into the light that peeks through the crack under the closed door of his past.

To know what happened before all this was what they craved for, but it was also their unbearable affliction- their new lifelong burden.

The two believers now saw someone new:

Francine the man who was responsible for their desolation, who prayed that he never hurt another again even if it meant no one knew he existed.

And Sammy the man who discarded one thin, broken layer of vision over his eyes for another.

Because sometimes to see means to finally become aware you see nothing at all. How amazing and yet awful it was for her to help him discover both how he looked now and how he looked back when he was human.

Human just like her.

But as each felt the other press their hands onto their back, maybe it would be okay anyway. Maybe being human means to be uncomfortable, and maybe to have faith means to also always have fear and doubt.

And the eyes of the studio stared at them, marveling at the preservation of love and selflessness despite all that had been done that could have erased the treasure held between their hearts amid this hug.

It hoped itself to never be provoked to endanger it again.

_Please…now that you know…just let it be. There will be no peace in seeking for more._

_What we have is enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this work but not of the series!!! Hopefully sometime within the next week I'll have whipped together another scene for you guys. I certainly have secrets and some moments I want to share that you haven't seen hehe.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for all the support, and keep an eye out for the next work!!! We aren't done with the disciples yet- maybe not even close. :3c

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve actually gotten so much art that the character limit won’t let me put in all the links at the end notes! WOW!!!! Thank you, everyone!!! You’re all amazing and ilysm!!!! <3  
> I will be adding links to fanart as I post chapters, but please check the following tags. I’ve categorized things by arc/drabble so that you don’t get spoilers.
> 
> The overall tag for Hymns fanart is here:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/hymns-art
> 
> The tag for Hymns of Struggle as the first work alone is here:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/hos-art
> 
> Wonders of Heresy:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/wonders-art
> 
> Parables of Empathy:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/parables-art
> 
> Flickers of Faith:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/flickers-art
> 
> Tides of Longing (this part you just read):  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/tides-art
> 
> Cares of Communion:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/cares-art
> 
> Dances of Duality:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/dances-art
> 
> A Rock in the River:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/a-rock-in-the-river-art
> 
> What’s Not Yours:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/wny-art
> 
> General/Crossover Art:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/general-art
> 
> Any art involving Gingie (the Joey of this AU):  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/gingie-art
> 
> And a commission of Gingie painted by my good friend Ace hehe:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/177183125008/aceofintuition-is-there-anything-quite-so
> 
>  **And here’s a playlist I’ve made:**  
>  https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLY8pGhalYoCuHX0dLpmuY3jNYntmUjltg
> 
>  **Read this if you plan on being so kind as to make me art yourself!!!!** (Some of it applies to content not canon to Hymns but still applies here):  
>  https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/176339938068/so-with-aces-permission-im-going-to-sort-of-add
> 
> Thank you everyone for your support!!!!!! I couldn’t do it without you!!! <3 <3 <3 Special thanks to the artists that have given me so, so much more than I could ever ask for:  
> Ace, Star, Silver, Gia, Metallic, Lil Griffin, Ufopilots, June, Halfie, Fern, Moonshadow0, Mango, CrowSketches, A-Rae-Of-Sunshine, Queen
> 
>  **THIS ISN'T THE END OF THE FIC, BY THE WAY!** Go ahead and read the next work in this series!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Into the Ink Hell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633346) by [Fernlom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernlom/pseuds/Fernlom)




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